


Lady Ex Officers' Lounge

by Malicean



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Friendship, Interservice Rivalries, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malicean/pseuds/Malicean
Summary: Because people asked for more Veers/Piett interaction. With the occasional side of Vader.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My New Year's resolution for 2019: crosspost my works from FFnet to AO3 at last.
> 
> **Lady Ex Officers' Lounge **was first posted on FFnet from 09-18-11 to 12-26-11.

The SSD _Executor_ does not have an Officers' Mess – how could she, with more than ten thousand officers aboard.

There are Officers' Mess**_es_** No. 1-24, though. While theoretically open to anyone above a certain rank, four of those are firmly in the hand of the Army contingent aboard, and it would be inadvisable for any Fleet officer to intrude. Likewise, Army officers can expect a cool welcome in any of the remaining ones.

At a certain level of rank, however, officers become increasingly thin on the ground. The Officers' Lounge, domain of the highest field grades and above, has its invisible demarcation lines crisscrossing the room itself.

Though, not all of those fall along the Army/Navy divide ...


	2. The big guy and the steadfast one

* * *

The lack of decent conversation was deplorable, Major General Maximilian Veers decided. You couldn't argue with your direct subordinates; and though the Army/Navy segregation wasn't as strictly observed in the Lounge as it was in some other places, the current admiral (the _Lady Ex_ was chewing through her admirals faster than most other consumables) was an utter moron, in Veers' – indubitably unqualified – opinion.

The dislike was mutual, even if Ozzel had formed his opinion on no further basis than the accident of birth. While he and about half of the other officers in the room felt entitled to their rank by dint of their aristocratic origins, Veers and the rest of the upstarts had risen far above their proper stations thanks to Lord Vader's unhealthy propensity of promoting skill over (family) connections. With a couple of drinks under his belt, the admiral could occasionally be heard lecturing on the topic.

Depending on his mood, the general took the snubs more or less belligerently – and his opinion of the man and his cronies sank lower every time the admiral slunk out of any upfront confrontation.

Tonight, he felt less than amiably inclined when a commotion at the entrance of the Lounge drew his attention.

"Hells, Piett," one of the Navy captains – Chief of Engineering, if Veers remembered correctly – greeted a newcomer, "you look like you could use a drink."

While the so accosted man waved off the offered glass, the general eyed him critically. He had nothing personally against the physically unassuming Captain, whose humble origins made him at least not one of the obnoxious gits, but the man had yet to show any indication of a backbone. True, trapped in the unenviable position of Captain of the Flagship of the Fleets, he had not only the admiral breathing down his neck, as was the lot of every flagship captain, but also the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces which left little room for initiative. But still ...

"He's in a mood today," the Captain reported softly, and there was no need to elaborate who _He _was.

The Chief of Engineering made a face. "Anyone I know?"

"I doubt it. A Commander Goenki, fresh transfer to the bridge. Didn't last a full week."

Veers could make himself heard in the din of a battlefield, if need be, he had no problems with cutting into a conversation halfway across the room. "Goenki? Formerly supervisor of maintenance in Hangars 4 to 12?"

The assorted captains turned at him.

"You know the man?" the engineer asked curiously. Piett looked thoughtful, possibly remembering that Hangars 5 to 9 contained the Titan dropships and their intended cargo.

The general bared teeth in a predatory grin.

"Of him, rather." He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Couldn't have hit a more deserving man."

The Navy instantaneously closed ranks.

"Sir." Piett stepped forward, icily polite. "I would ask you to speak of the dead with proper respect!"

Veers kept up the predatory expression. "I do speak of the dead with _appropriate_ respect. The late commander had the lovely habit of sleeping around with any female he could get his hands on – and there are a surprising number of women among the techs, something about the combination of non-combat jobs and the need for fine motor skills, I believe. Now, usually I couldn't care less about what people do on their off time, but Goenki used his rank and position to enforce what he couldn't get voluntarily."

A sneer of utter loathing told what the general thought about such practices.

"Recently he tried his luck on a woman who turned out to be not a new technician, but a medic controlling the first-aid stations of the hangars, who had merely donned the overall temporarily for practical reasons. She told him (a) she wasn't interested; (b) he had no command over her, so his threats were useless; (c) she had patched up enough stormtroopers that the queue of men willing to punch his teeth in for her would wrap around the main hangar twice; and (d) _'that slight pressure you're feeling against your nether regions is a laser scalpel, sir.'_"

What was now a solid half-circle of mostly Navy officers around the general's seat squirmed in empathy. Veers knocked back a toast to the spirited medic.

"He beat a hasty retreat – and found himself another unfortunate girl to take out his frustrations on. As luck would have it, said medic found a face she had seen two days before in Hangar 6 in the infirmary, put two and two together and got the girl to talk. Then she went straight to Goenki's superior – or rather, who she thought it to be."

The general shrugged. "It's a common mistake to assume the tech crews assigned to the walker units are part of the same, when they are in fact supplied by the respective stations – which is usually an Army installation, but in this case the ship."

"And you took her seriously?" One of Ozzel's favorite cronies sneered down incredulously on the seated commandant of the _Executor'_s walker battalion. "Some jilted ex trying to get the man into trouble, most likely. The hussy ..."

Veers put his glass down with such _purpose_ that the blustering commander fell silent and hastily stepped back.

"When a medic with six years of exceptional service brings me a list of verifiable medical facts, yes, I take her seriously! When a solid knot of protective fury, with six years of experience in surgery, tells me that either someone puts a stop to Goenki's activities, or the next time one of his victims ends up in the infirmary, the man will be found in Hangars 4, 5, 6, and so on to _12_, I take her seriously, too."

The general let the mental image sink in for a moment.

Piett spoke up before he could continue. "And your reaction, sir?"

Still polite, still arctically cool.

"I told her I'd pull rank on those troopers, and if I heard of such a thing happening again, those pieces she had mentioned would turn out to be a very thin smear spread across the walker bays. Then I had a brief chat with Commander Goenki, to tell him that I never wanted to hear his name in that context again."

A brief glare at the skeptical commander. "It might interest you that he felt no need to deny anything. Then I reminded him that I am fully qualified to pilot an AT-AT and how awfully heavy those machines are. Next thing I heard, he had put in for a transfer."

And that decision had removed the man from one perceived threat right into the path of an even more deadly one. Quite a number of officers visibly wondered if the general had had a hand in that, too, by way of a strategically placed word in the right ... uh, auditory sensor, and drew back.

Veers hadn't, but it was a nice thought that Vader's latest victim might not have been chosen entirely at random.

One of the few officers not to retreat, and indeed the only one to step even closer, Piett gave the general a measured look. "I see. Nonetheless, I would prefer it, sir, if you would just inform the proper authorities next time, and let the _Navy_ sort out Navy business."

Veers stood. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and not shy of using physical dominance to reinforce his authority, but this shrimp of a Navy captain refused to back down, even when loomed over. Given the distinct lack of character the Navy had shown in this sordid affair so far, the general was impressed.

The smaller man went on, "I may not have your qualifications, sir, but _my_ favorite war machine has an infinite reservoir of hard vacuum around – and as the Captain I can induce pretty much anyone aboard to take a hike."

_Including loud-mouthed generals in charge of my troop contingent_, the cold hazel eyes said.

Piett held his eyes unflinchingly until Veers started grinning.

"I will remember that," the general conceded, alluding to both the advice and the fact that he had just been threatened by someone who had neither the rank nor the stature to do so with impunity.

And so he did. It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't come up with that title, not really. Canon provides first names that perfectly fit the two guys (and yes, I'm aware that Maximilian translates to a bit more than _big_, so let's just assume the general prefers to go by 'Max').


	3. Fair exchange

_Of course, good friendships need time to grow. Time to get to know each other._

Piett liked to have breakfast in the Lounge, otherwise deserted in the early morning, as Veers found out when he stumbled in, in search for caf. At this point, the general had a twelve-hour exercise behind him, that he had started in mid-afternoon to make sure his troops – and especially the officers – were used to the fact that the enemy rarely attacked on a convenient schedule.

"Good heavens, Piett! Is that your idea of a decent breakfast?!" was blunt even by Veers' personal standards, but with another two hours of wrap-up and preliminary debriefing with the senior officers following the exercise, it was now about twenty-four hours the general had been on his feet and Veers had never been a morning person, anyway.

And that pale, glutinous mass the Captain had been eating with good appetite until the general's unexpected arrival, did_ not_ look very edible. More like a sealant, or a filler – in fact Veers was pretty sure Maintenance used something similar to polish minor scratches out of durasteel armor.

The Navy man didn't look overly put off by the undiplomatic greeting, though. On the contrary, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly before he replied, in a perfectly polite tone, "A good morning to you, too, sir. Would you like to take a seat?"

He pointed invitingly at the chair opposite of him and before the general could make up his mind if he wanted company on top of caf, Veers' legs gratefully folded up and precipitated him into the seat.

Then Piett gestured sharply and ordered, "Steward, some caf for the general. And make it Navy strength."

"I'm not Navy," was not the wittiest response imaginable, but while exercises might not be as physically demanding as real battles, they also lacked the rush of adrenaline that could keep a man going for days if he had to – and in addition, though not even an IT-O would make him admit that aloud, Veers wasn't a young cadet anymore.

The Captain kept a perfectly straight face. "So I noticed, sir. But it's not poisonous to non-Navy personnel, in my experience."

The general was spared another reply by the arrival of one of the stewards, who poured him a large cup of something steamingly hot, black as intergalactic space and smelling heavenly. The first sip was definitely an experience – but Veers managed not to spit it across the table.

"Whoa! What's the secret ingredient, reactor coolant?!"

The steward had the stony blandness down pat that Ozzel had beaten into everyone serving in the Officers' Lounge, but now his eyes flickered momentarily towards the Captain, who nodded back nigh imperceptibly, before answering.

"No, sir." Another sidelong glance, another encouraging nod. "We merely double the usual ratio of caf and water, sir."

The general stared at the cup, tilted it experimentally and said, almost accusingly, "It's still liquid."

Then he took another sip, and it was still as brutally bitter, but he could almost _feel_ the caffeine seep straight through the mucous membranes of his mouth into the bloodstream and push him back towards proper wakefulness.

Piett watched with an almost-smile, gestured at his sticky bowl and asked, "What about some food, General? Perhaps something to polish out minor scratches?"

Veers shook his head before he had processed the second question and the Captain waved away the steward. The general waited until the enlisted man was out of earshot before he asked, "I said that aloud?"

"Not exactly, sir, but you were mumbling it. I, uh, took it for a sign that you were in need of some caffeine."

"How very observant," Veers gave back, and then he kept his mouth shut until his first cup was empty and the second well filled.

Piett kept quiet, too, and used the time to finish his breakfast, a glass of Burshka juice and tea, in addition to that strange mush. When he judged the general to be back among the living, he asked lightly, "So, General, how did the mock battle go, sir?"

"Mock battle? The only mocking thing here is you, Captain!" Veers snapped, saw the smaller man jerk back and stiffen his posture and decided that he would better go more slowly on the second cup.

He hadn't had such friendly banter since he'd made general, Veers realized, and little enough of it before that, since the lanky teenager had grown into his full stature. He deliberately assumed a tone of such petulant superiority that it made for a creditable imitation of Admiral Ozzel, when he went on, "I'll have you know that the Army _never _mocks a battle. We do, however, occasionally have _exercises_. How would you come to call it a mock battle?"

For a moment Piett maintained the same stony face as the steward before – the same expression the man wore around Ozzel, Veers realized, and the Captain used a rather similar tone, too, when addressing the admiral, come to think of it – before Piett slowly relaxed. The animosity between the general and the admiral was too well known to take the impersonation for anything but an attempt at humor.

"Well, sir," the Captain started cautiously, "what else but a battle would keep you awake until the early morning? And if it had been a real one, I would know about it."

A ghost of a smile. "It is considered good style to inform the Captain of a vessel when she goes into battle."

"Humph. Oh, it went well enough," Veers conceded, "once all of the senior officers were dead."

The general enjoyed the startled look for a moment. "Nasty case of snipers, you see? The 501st was very obliging."

"I see." Piett nodded seriously. " I must remember that method to improve efficiency."

Veers laughed – and remembered only minutes afterwards that the Captain must have seen the commander of said unit perform exactly that kind of efficiency improvement in real life, more than once. By then, however, the general was already regaling the Navy man with the highlights – and most spectacular mistakes – of the aforementioned exercise.

Piett listened attentively how he had driven his men back and forth across the main exercise hall – 1.2 km long, three decks high and 300 m wide – changing the obstacle course behind them every time, and only raised an eyebrow when Veers mentioned that last detail.

Nodding slowly, the Captain held up a datapad he had been perusing during breakfast.

"I have here a request for authorization of a modification of the main exercise hall, to allow for a change of scenery while there are still people within the hall. I assume that the plans for the exercise weren't so top secret that they reached Engineering only after the fact – correct, sir?"

"I sent that request to the responsible engineer five days ago," the general growled.

"I thought so. The engineer in question is very good on technical details, but decision making isn't exactly his forte. He needs clear orders, not requests. Luckily, he has a rather competent second-in-command."

"About your height, twice your width, fiery-haired and a temper to match? I met the man. He told me my request was impossible to realize, asked me what exactly I wanted to achieve and made it happen. Good man."

"Good man," the Captain echoed.

By the time the two men parted company, Veers knew a lot more about who got what problem solved on the _Lady Ex_ – and when he thought about it, Piett now knew which infantry officers could be trusted to use their heads, too.

All in all, a fair exchange, the general concluded.


	4. Fun and games

Traditional interservice rivalries – and the dislike between the respective commanding officers – should have been enough to keep Army and Navy separated; but like drawn to like meant that the Core-worlders, who had spent their formative – if not childhood – years moving in the same illustrious circles, still kept their acquaintances going, nonetheless.

By sheer self-defense, the _'upstarts'_ tended to coalesce, too – keeping up-to-date with vital court rumors aside, there was only so much interest a man could feign in the fact that Wyyona Whatever-her-name-was had finally caught herself a man (who, by all accounts, utterly deserved what he was about to receive), if one hadn't known the minx in question since she'd been a snotty little brat.

Captain Piett was diplomat enough not to go against his direct superior's express opinions and seek out the general's company on his own accord – but by the same token he was diplomat enough not to brush off Veers immediately, if the latter engaged him in conversation, and the general ruthlessly took advantage of this fact.

The Captain did not seem to mind, personally. While maintaining the polite deference due to his higher rank, Piett could be quite sharp-tongued in discussion, and Veers enjoyed a conversation partner that could keep him on his toes.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

When Piett offered a friendly game of Moebius chess one evening, Veers agreed confidently, even though he had never played that particular variant before. He was usually quite good at anything strategy-based.

He was promptly beaten so thoroughly that the general didn't believe his own eyes and immediately demanded a rematch.

The rout was even more complete the second time around.

Feeling generous, no doubt, the Captain proposed best three out of five, but Veers was enough of a Sabacc player to know when to fold them.

"No way, Piett. I didn't lose that obviously since I was a drunk cadet who thought challenging a Wookiee for an arm-wrestling match was a smart idea. I'm not in the mood for a repeat."

The Navy man – and most of the spectators, especially the rematch had garnered quite a few of them, Army _and_ Navy – gave the general an incredulous stare. "You didn't."

Veers grinned. When properly startled, Piett occasionally dropped the 'sir', and while the general was a great believer in good discipline, he preferred to spend his off-duty time a bit less formal. "Broke my arm in three places."

The Captain opened his mouth to reply, shut it, and tried again. "I'm surprised it was still attached."

Veers waved dismissively. "Oh, the Wookiee was very sporting about it – or so I was told, my Shyriiwook is nonexistent."

"I see." Piett leaned back, hands steepled. "Well, sir, next time you feel the need to go up against a Wookiee, I hope you'll find a mode of challenge with more promise of success."

He gestured at the still idling holochess set. "A game of chess, perhaps. No Moebius chess, though, I'd recommend; as arboreal creatures Wookiees should be able to think in three dimensions."

The general leaned forward, stung.

"Are you implying that I'm not?" he asked, with a slight edge to his tone.

"Your words, sir, not mine." The narrow features could pull off a surprisingly impressive smirk. "But spatial awareness is one of the first things the _Navy_ tests any applicants for."

Veers growled. "Funny, Captain. I think next time I feel like an easy victory, I'll just challenge _you_ for an arm-wrestling match."

Piett shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "As I am neither drunk," an evil gleam started to glow in the general's eyes, "nor a cadet, I would simply concede the fight."

"I didn't realize the Navy was _such_ push-overs …"

"The _Navy_ is still two wins _ahead_, by my count, sir."

The Navy portion of the spectators – the majority, naturally – was cheering at those words. The Army contingent closed ranks in a way that could have ended ugly. It was Veers' turn to shrug, unimpressed.

"For now. Let's switch to dejarik, and we'll see."

By the time the need to sleep before tomorrow's duties put an end to the tournament, the Captain was only one victory ahead – and the lead had changed hands several times already – and about half of the games had ended in a draw.

Holochess in all its variants became a favorite pastime – and spectator sport – between the Captain and the general.

Much less one-sided, it also provided much more interesting fuel for the Navy/Army snipe war than the ongoing Ozzel/Veers feud – no one seriously wanted to bet against the general in _that_ contention any more, except when it came to higher ratings on the _dead man walking_ list.

And really, where else did one get the chance to hear the occasional anecdote about one's superior's dumb cadet exploits ….

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Somewhere else on the ship, the episode and its aftermath were seen less positively.

While the first evening had led to the notation: _'Gen. Veers shows the political acumen of the common nerf'_, for allowing a lesser rank to beat him soundly – and above all, _publicly_ – and compound the blunder by sharing further embarrassing information freely, the following months left the observer in frustrated indecision whether the general was a damn lucky fool or an extremely shrewd schemer only _playing_ at obfuscating stupidity.

When the story hit the rumor mill – as it inevitably did – people were laughing all over the ship, but most did not respect Veers any less. Quite the opposite, in fact: especially the troops absolutely loved it.

Everyone agreed – including the observer – that the Captain, on the other hand, had played an extremely bold move in challenging and beating the general, and most admired him for it. The observer merely noted: _'bears further watching'_.


	5. Background music

Part of the Old Core Gentlemen's Club ambiance of the Lounge, beside the upscale furnishings and tasteful decor, excellent table and better bar, and a view that surpassed even that of the Bridge – if only because people on the Bridge usually had better things to do than to indulge in stargazing – was a constant background of soft music. Classical music, naturally, gentle, unobtrusive instrumentals, easy to ignore if necessary and yet essential part of that certain _'je ne sais quoi'_.

If he wasted any thought on it at all, Veers disliked it. What was the point of playing music that was easily ignored? That the highborn rabble liked to quote composer, phrase and interpret within his earshot at every opportunity, to prove their incomparably higher sophistication, did nothing to endear the style to the general.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

One day Ozzel sailed in with his entourage, to find his accustomed strings replaced by a strong female voice, singing vibrantly to a lively tune. Furious demands to return to the previous state were met by pale but adamant stewards, who quoted strict orders from a certain general to lodge all complaints with him, personally.

No one took up the challenge. Veers spent the entire evening grinning like a nek.

The general found something equally spirited for the next evening, too, and would have spent the rest of the week digging through the _Lady_'s extensive library for ever less classical music he liked – there _were_ some classical pieces he liked, too, but that was hardly the point – if the Captain had not caught him up the following day, narrow face drawn with distaste.

Commander Guos, most arrogant whelp of a Coruscanti lapdog to ever disgrace an honest ship's deck with his presence – harsh condemnation, coming from a man who loved his ship with a passion Veers had previously considered reserved for something with a pulse – had decided to vent his anger, at the general he could not touch, by going after the steward who had actually told him 'No', Piett informed Veers.

The general didn't need to be told how a high-ranking officer could make a subordinate's life hell if he felt like it. The commander might get the steward killed, even, without leaving the realm of the nominally legal, though Guos struck Veers as the sort who preferred to make a man _wish_ he could just die instead.

"No _'let the _Navy_ sort out _Navy_ business'_ this time?" the general queried, voice sharp with anger.

"I thought you might like to be informed, sir," the Captain gave back, just as edgily. **_You_**_ made this mess, this is your **one **chance to clean it up_ **_yourself_**_, before someone else has to,_ was expressed wordlessly.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

When the hapless steward, stumbling towards his bed after a double shift that had suddenly materialized on his duty roster, felt strong hands on his shoulders that dragged him off the corridor and into a utility room, he expected a thrashing – scuttlebutt knew all there was to know about Commander Guos.

The grey-uniformed figure watching his struggling entrance with interest was not the one he had anticipated, though.

"General Veers has requested the Navy's assistance for a certain project of his. I expect you to follow these orders to the letter," the Captain said.

A datapad was pressed into his hands before the confused steward could finish his "Aye sir," and then the Captain took his leave. With a cautious look at the huge man in off-duty stormtrooper fatigues that had – literally – dragged him into this, the steward read through the datapad.

It didn't take long. _Do as you are told_, followed by the Captain's spiky signature.

He looked up to find a sharkish grin looking down on him.

"Sergeant Heawl," the grinning giant introduced himself. "You and I are going to switch places for a bit, mate."

The steward was too well-trained to let his emotions show on his face. "Do you know anything about serving drinks, Sergeant?"

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

When the general continued to adjust the background music to his tastes, Commander Guos found his vicious complaint met by a complacent "General's orders, sir", voiced an entire octave deeper than expected.

When he actually spared a look at the serving man's face, the commander, to his dismay, had to tilt back his head. The sharp order to get the usual steward was met with the equally infuriating and worrying, "That would be me, sir. Your usual steward, sir. General's orders, sir."

Technically speaking, there was nothing wrong with the new steward. He wore his flawless uniform with dignity, served meals and drinks with grace – even if it was the sort of grace that usually came attached to claws the size of cutlery – he followed orders to the letter and answered to everything with unfailing, respectful politeness.

On a more visceral level, though, the huge figure and the fearless glint in his eyes, which the commander interpreted – _correctly_ – as carrying General Veers' full support to whatever action the man might take, made Commander Guos behave much more politely than was his wont towards a servant, from there on.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

In general, however, reactions to Veers' musical experiments were mixed.

While Ozzel and his inner circle fumed on principle, quite a number of men – more than either general or admiral had expected – shrugged off the changed tunes. Some even went as far as the Captain, whose occasional comment consisted of a raised eyebrow and, "Interesting."

By the end of the week, Veers found himself approached by a group of younger Navy officers. Sons of old houses all of them – and therefore on standing invitations from the admiral – but at least their spokesman had been gifted, by a cruel joke of genetics, with actual tactical talent on top of the ancient, money- and power-heavy name.

The young lieutenant held out a datadisc, covered from sight by his co-conspirators backs, and suggested, very politely, if the general might like to take a look at these ... musicians, too.

Veers raised an eyebrow at the very few names he recognized. "Hardly classics," he commented mildly.

"No, sir," the young man admitted, before adding conspiratorially, "and every proper son of Imperial Center has been brought up to hate this kind of music like the plague, sir."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Easy to ignore was NOT the order of the day the next evening.

Captain Piett winced visibly when he walked into the wall of sound – no louder than any of the songs before, but piercing – and made a beeline straight to the general.

"Hardly classics," he commented, voice straining against the noise.

Veers shrugged innocently. "My reaction exactly, but since the young Pelerin asked so nicely ..."

"My, my, General, stealing young acolytes from straight under the admiral's nose. How devious of you, sir." The Captain very nearly grinned.

The artful dissonance, originally created for a species with quite a different frequency range of hearing, reached another crescendo and the nascent grin vanished.

"Just this once, though. Starting tomorrow, I expect to hear something less ... pervasive, sir. Or else the entire sound system will be disabled, by Captain's order."

_And the Captain trumps generals aboard a ship_, that went without saying.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

It took Ozzel another week to reach the same conclusion – but though the same was true, even more so, for _admirals_, he nonetheless ordered the Captain to reassume control. The gutless act cost Ozzel plenty of his less tightly bound supporters.


End file.
